The Devil's in the Details
by SmittyGirl
Summary: In the six months that had passed since Micky's grand experiment, the boys had all learned to live with the extra Nesmith, while she was slowly learning to live with herself. (Origin story: "Curious Tale of Shug Nesmith": /s/8885790/) UPDATE: 08/05/13 - Chapter Six! Sorry it took so long!
1. Chapter 1

"I don't understand why you feel th' need to watch," Mike groused. He was careful, dragging the razor up the underside of his chin. "It's shaving. It's a basic process."

His twin, Sugar, gave a shrug from her perch on the back of the commode. "I dunno. Sometimes, I kinda miss the sideburns." She ran a hand over her cheek, then looked back at Mike, who stood shirtless at the wash basin. She snickered. "Geez, I was hairy, wasn't I?"

Mike's eyes boggled. "Watch it, you." He bopped his sister on the nose, leaving a small blob of shaving cream behind. She quickly ran her sleeve over her face. The two traded a smirk before Mike returned to the task at hand.

"You guys are doing it again," Micky said as he passed by the open bathroom door.

"Doin' what?" came the chorus of a response.

Micky stopped to face them, arms crossed. "There's this…_look_ you two give each other. Like you're up to something." He narrowed his eyes at them. "It's weird."

"You're weird." Shug pitched a roll of toilet paper at the curly-haired drummer, bouncing it off the top of his head.

"HEY! That's not fair!"

"That's at least a hundred points in Monkeeball," the girl grinned. She turned to her brother, who had a partial glimpse of the move in the bathroom mirror. "What do you think, Mike?"

The boy paused from his work around his sideburns and considered the play. "Well… That's a good two hundred since you launched it straight from the bathroom. That's a tricky move."

Shug crossed her arms and looked smugly at Micky.

"But," Mike went on, "since TP seems to get a little more valuable when th' rent's due, I gotta deduct fifty points."

"What?"

"Hah!" Micky launched the roll right back at the lanky girl, pelting her in the forehead. The roll bounced to the floor behind Mike. "Two hundred for Dolenz on the return pass!"

Sugar climbed off the toilet tank and grabbed the roll of paper. "Why you—"

Mike, half-laughing and half-exasperated, grabbed his sister by the shoulders. "Alright, alright, let's take this to a bigger playin' field before I cut my throat over a foul ball." He shoved her out of the little room and closed the door.

Sugar and Micky looked at each other a moment before the bathroom door opened again. Without a word, Mike approached Shug and plucked the paper from her hands before returning to the room.

"I still get two hundred points," Micky insisted.

"Team Nez is still ahead by about a billion," Shug retaliated. She stuck her tongue out at him. Micky returned the gesture.

Davy and Peter were both tending to the stoppered-up sink. The English boy could only shake his head at his older bandmates. "So glad to be surrounded by such mature adults."

"Thank you!" Peter straightened, beaming from ear to ear.

A series of short, light knocks could be heard from the door. There was no time for anyone to answer it before it opened and a mop of blonde hair peered around the edge.

"Heya, boys! Anyone home?"

Four voices cheered in unison. "Millie!"

The older woman stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other carrying a parcel. "Two doors down and you still can't come visit? What, are _all_ your legs broken?" She gave them a broad smile. "How are my boys?"

Chatter had begun among them as Mike emerged from the bathroom to join everyone. Millie glanced at him, then did a full double-take. "Wait a second—How'd you change clothes so fast?"

Mike and his twin traded an embarrassed look. He straightened his hair, out of nervous habit. "Millie…I'd like you to meet my sister, Sugar." He took the girl by the hand and pulled her to his side.

Shug twiddled her fingers in a small wave. "Hi, Millie." Of course, she already knew Millie, but memories of her stay as a tenant in the Pad, of the successful match made between Larry the moving man and the now former Mrs. Rudnick, of the raucous wedding reception following, were all tucked neatly into the back of Shug's mind. Those were still Mike's memories, not completely her own. For all intents and purposes, Shug was meeting Millie for the first time.

Millie's eyes darted between the pair of Texans and her smile broadened. "Look at you kids. You're like two peas in a pod!" She patted them both on the cheek, hand lingering a moment, almost wistful. "Y'know, my Herman and I always wanted kids. Twins would have been perfect…" Her smile faltered a moment before she directed her eyes to the floor.

Shug made a grab for Millie's hand and held it in both of hers. She was at a loss of what to actually say to the woman, but hoped that maybe her gesture was enough, awkward as it seemed. Millie patted Shug's arm with her free hand, her smile restored. "You're a good girl, Sugar."

Micky swung an arm over Millie's shoulder. "So, Auntie Millie, what brings you around these parts?"

"Does Larry need help moving stuff again?" Peter laughed.

Millie's face brightened. "Funny you should mention that…"

The boys and Shug each took a step back. "Now, Millie, we can't work…pro…pro…" Mike struggled to find the right word. It was on the tip of his tongue, but still lodged somewhere behind his eyeteeth.

Peter anxiously raised his hand. "Ooo, I know this! We can't work Sonny Bono?"

"That's close enough," Micky said, patting the blonde on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, boys," Millie beamed. "It's not your typical moving job. See, Larry and I are sort of…cleaning house and we were thinking of donating some of our old furniture." Her eyes scanned the beach house's main living area before meeting with each of its residents. She shook her head rather pitifully. "Seeing how you were such a big help to me and to my Larry, we thought what better people to donate to!"

Stunned silence, followed by wide grins and many thanks filled the air in the house. The boys tromped out of the house, greeted by Larry just at the end of the drive.

Shug hurried to put on her moccasin boots, which Mike had kindly given up for her, then stumbled to the door. Millie caught her by the arm.

"Where are you going, honey?"

The girl cocked her head sideways, puzzled. "I'm gonna go help move stuff with the rest of th' guys."

Millie shook her head adamantly. "Now, you leave all that heavy lifting to the men. Besides, we've got some catching up to do, don't we?" She led the girl to the kitchen table, setting down the package, which was wrapped in a pair of cup towels. "You weren't here the last time I visited, so you missed out on this." Millie unwrapped the item, revealing a container with homemade cheesecake.

"Aww, Millie," Shug beamed, "you didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did," the older woman said sternly. She fished through the kitchen drawers till she found appropriate utensils. "You kids never take proper care of yourselves, so it's worth it to stop in and check on you." She placed a pair of mismatched saucers on the table, then began slicing into the treat. "A little spoiling never hurt anyone, right?" She slid a generous piece of cheesecake toward Sugar.

The girl giggled as she armed herself with a fork. "I guess not, huh?"

"Tell me something, Sugar," Millie began, taking a seat next to her. "What's a girl like you doing living with these four boys? I'm as progressive as the next person, but…"

Shug considered the question, scrunching her nose in contemplation. Her eyes widened as the thinly veiled meaning behind Millie's inquiry became clear. "Oh no no no!" She felt her face suddenly become very warm. "We moved Micky downstairs so I could room with my brother. It's the best arrangement we could come up with." She propped her elbow on the table, leaning her face against her palm. "He actually _volunteered_ to sleep on the fold-away. …It was really nice of him."

The truth of the matter was that Micky still felt a touch guilty for putting Shug into her current situation; for essentially creating doubles of Mike, in which case one turned out to be a female. In the six months that had passed since his grand experiment, the boys had all learned to live with the extra Nesmith, while she was slowly learning to live with herself.

Of course, she couldn't tell Millie that. There were some things about being a Monkee that went far past the cusp of believability. Shug was pretty sure her existence qualified.

"How old are you?" Millie's voice shook the dark-haired girl from her daze. "If you don't mind my asking, that is." She gave her a wink. "Just between us girls, naturally."

Sugar fidgeted a moment. How old _was_ she? 'Six months' would not be an appropriate answer, no matter how true it was. "Tw-twenty-four by th' end of this year," she stammered. She hoped it was convincing. It was half-true, at least.

Millie pointed her fork at her new friend. "Don't you think you're a little old to be sharing a room with your brother? That usually stops at ten, if not sooner."

"But…"

But _what?_

_Mike is my security blanket? I miss being me? I'm afraid of what I am now?_

Sugar bit her lip and studied the raised patterns on the table. The older blonde patted her hand gently.

"It's okay," she said. "You two must have really missed each other." Millie carefully moved Shug's bangs out of her face. Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Wait a minute—I've got the perfect thing for you back at the house!" Millie practically leapt from her seat, giving the girl a kiss on the top of her head before hurrying toward the front door. "Lemme holler at Larry. Be right back!"

The haul from the Van Lauries was impressive, at least to a quintet of struggling musicians. They were now the proud owners of a well-worn sofa and loveseat, a couple of mismatched bookcases and even a coffee table with real wooden legs in lieu of cinder blocks. The sofa was the most impressive, seeing as how it could unfold into a spare full bed. It had a tricky latch, however, which was discovered when Davy sat down in the wrong place and was subsequently "eaten" by part of the living room suit.

Sugar and Peter were extracting their diminutive friend from the jaws of the couch when Larry trudged into the Pad with pieces of a fancy bed frame hoisted onto his shoulder. "Alright, Cupcake," he gasped, exhausted. "Where did you say to take it?"

Millie scooted through the doorway past her husband. She pointed up the spiral staircase. "Up there, honey." She waved at the boys. "C'mon fellas. I need your help."

"I shoulda known this would come with strings attached," Mike groused, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Millie, while we're thankful for th' furniture, we'd kind of appreciate you not…movin' things around." He stuffed his hat into his back pocket.

The older blonde raised an eyebrow at the young fellow, the corners of her mouth turned down. "In this case, Mr. Nesmith, things definitely need moving around." She pointed at Sugar, who was busy plucking dust bunnies from Davy's hair. "That girl needs her own space."

All eyes locked onto Mike's twin. She folded her arms around herself, taking a few steps back. "…What'd I do?"

At his wife's insistence, Larry continued his careful trek up the metal stairs. Millie's expression softened at last. "I saved that bed for years. First for a daughter I never had, then for a niece who never visited." She broke into a sad smile. "Time to let it go. And to good use, too."

Micky pondered this a moment. "Does this mean I get my bed again?" He groaned and stretched, with exaggerated gestures toward his spine. "'Cause my back is killing me." Mike gave a wry grin and jabbed him in the ribs, making the drummer yelp. Micky slapped at Mike's shoulder. "Don't _do_ that!"

Larry wasted no time in disassembling Micky's bed frame. Mike lingered in the doorway a moment, watching. Sugar stayed close behind on the landing, her ears perked up with every "thud" and "clang" of metal bed pieces.

It was when Larry began taking apart the other bed—Michael's—that the beanpole guitarist stepped in. "Hang on a second, Larry." He wrapped his hands around the lower end of the frame, unsure if he wanted this move to proceed or not. He glanced at the doorway, spotting Shug. She looked hopeful. She chanced a step into the room, heading straight for the new bed frame propped against the far wall. She ran her fingers along the white metal scroll work.

"It's a day bed," she said quietly. She looked at her brother, then back to the new piece of furniture. "It's about th' prettiest thing I think I've ever seen."

Mike watched as the smile on the girl's face at last reached her eyes. Sure, the day bed was nice, but it wasn't necessarily appealing to him. For Sugar, however, it was…different. He had to remind himself she was an entirely separate entity, not simply a genetic clone. New thoughts, new memories, a new host of emotions, entirely independent of his own.

"Shug," he said, clearing his throat, "Millie's right. I think you need your own room." He let go of his own bed frame and nodded at Larry to continue taking it apart.

None of this was what Sugar was expecting. "Are you sure? I mean, I dunno if I'm… I…" She sighed in irritation. "Miiiike…"

"You'll be fine, Baby Sister." Mike put his arm through the rails of Micky's bed frame and hoisted it onto his shoulder. "Gal like you deserves some real privacy, y'know." He brushed past her, hauling the frame gingerly down the staircase.

Micky bounded past Sugar and on Mike's instructions, attempted to lift the head board of the other bed onto his shoulders. "Just think, Shug—You'll have all that closet space to yourself, right?"

She shrugged. "I guess…" Her thoughts dissipated as she watched Micky struggle with the metal bed frame. It first was situated on his shoulder, then he managed to stick his head through the center rails. He charged toward the door, immediately bouncing back when the frame refused to go through. He stared at the door a moment, studying it, then turned sideways and tried again. That didn't quite work either, as the frame clanged noisily against the railing on the landing. Micky side-stepped back into the room, giving Sugar a pitiful look.

"It won't fit."

Sugar couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Mick, we got it up here, didn't we?"

Micky was downright sheepish. "I think Mike did it." He wriggled the frame; his face went white. "I'm stuck!"

"What?"

"I'M STUCK! My head is stuck!" Micky flailed his arms, shaking the frame enough that the decorative pieces rattled. Shug grabbed both his hands and held them down firmly. She had to admit it was a pretty amusing sight. Poor Micky looked like he was locked into a set of stocks.

Shug matched gazes with the brunet. "Micky, you've gotta calm down first, okay?"

He nodded nervously.

"Now just close your eyes an' think relaxin' thoughts," she said calmly. "You can do that for me, right?"

Micky nodded his head again. "Yeah yeah, relaxing. Cool, relaxing, head-not-stuck-in-railings thoughts…"

Sugar grabbed hold of one of the center rails with one hand and placed the other right in the center of Micky's rather unique face. With one deft, determined move, she pushed Micky's head back through the rails, while yanking the frame from around his skull. Once free, the drummer tumbled backwards onto the second floor landing. He felt over his nose, wiggling it again and again until he was satisfied that it had neither left his face nor had it squished into his head any further.

"Geez, Mi—Shug," Micky quickly corrected himself. "What'd you do that for?"

The twin held that portion of the bed frame on her shoulder. She gestured at it, much like a magician's assistant presented a prop, and smiled widely. "Ta-dah."

Micky felt of his neck and face, then kicked and squealed like a kid. "I'm free! Thanks loads, Sugar!"

"Congratulations on your pardon, peasant," she snickered.

* * *

It was exhausting work, but with everyone involved, the rearranging of sleeping quarters was completed in an afternoon. Afterward, Shug lay on her bed, her very own bed at last, and stared at the ceiling. She felt over the details in the metal scrolls next to her. The portions between the sculpted flowers reminded her of abstract fleur-de-lis.

"Millie, how do I make this up to you?" she quietly asked of no one.

"Promise her you'll be happy in your new digs," Mike called from the door.

Shug sat up, startled. "Didn't see you standin' there."

Mike rolled his shoulders dismissively. "Eh, I thought I'd come back an' make sure I had everything." He grinned and took a seat next to his sister on the day bed. He bumped her shoulder with his own. "Except for what you've laid claim to, o'course."

Sugar folded her hands across her knees. She errantly bounced her foot on the floor, sliding the little scrap of rug back and forth. "You okay with me stayin' up here? It's gotta be kinda crowded downstairs."

"There's plenty of space for all of us," Mike reassured her. "This is th' smaller bedroom, remember?"

"In all the movin' of stuff, I forgot."

Mike fidgeted a moment, crinkling something behind his back. Looking rather sheepish, he presented his sister with a brown paper package. "Um, here. I may have asked Millie for one little favor."

Puzzled, Shug began tearing into the paper. The package contained a hand-knit hat, just like any one of Mike's. It gave her pause. "It's purple."

"I thought it might look nice on you," said Mike. "Can't have my baby sister catchin' cold, right?"

The girl gazed at the hat, studying the patterns woven into the yarn. Such a simple little thing, but the thought behind it was phenomenally sized. She hugged it against her face first before pulling it onto her head. She didn't hesitate to throw her arms around her twin. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

"Nah, I'm not. I'm still a big, dumb galoot." Mike returned her embrace. "Happy six month birthday, Shug."

Sugar gaped at him, surprised. "You keepin' up with that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Mike gave her a shrug. "It's important." He watched as her eyes left his, trailing to other things in the room. Distractions. "What's buggin' you, Baby Sister?"

She sighed, voice full of worry. "You got any idea what it's like t'live in fear of somethin' as dumb as a full moon?"

Mike looked past her, peering out the window. Sure enough, that big lunar beach ball was barely visible in the afternoon sky, anxious to begin its evening shift. "Selenophobia."

Sugar's head snapped up to face her brother again. "Who?"

"Fear of the moon, hon," he said with a kind smile. "It's called selenophobia." He put an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. She propped her head on his shoulder. "Can I ask why?"

"You of all people should know," Shug grumbled. She picked at her nails, then felt over the crooked finger on her right hand. Her brother had the same exact injury. Of course he did. "This whole mess started with a full moon glarin' down on us. I'm afraid it'll end th' same way."

"You're not goin' anywhere, Sugar."

"How do you know for sure, Mike?" Her voice sounded a little heavy. He knew why and squeezed her shoulder.

"I just do," he said quietly. "After this long, I wouldn't let anyone or anything take you without a fight, either. It's kinda nice havin' a sister." With his free hand, he removed his hat. "…You look like Mama, y'know."

Shug's gasp was audible. The comment wasn't an insult; in fact, it was the farthest thing from it. But with all the worry and fear she had kept to herself since the big split, it hit just the proper chord to rattle her emotional well. She cringed and held tightly onto Mike. Overcome, tears spilled out of her eyes and soaked into the shoulder of her brother's shirt. He stroked her hair and simply let her cry.

She let him cry, too.

* * *

Author's Notes: This whole thing has been lodged in my head a while and is still developing. And yep, we already have a little drama.


	2. Chapter 2

In the time that Sugar had established herself in the boys' lives, as well as their band, she had also managed to start a new monthly tradition—Girls' night at April's house. They were careful in their arrangements, always planning around the group's performance schedule. So far, Shug had learned how to carry herself in a slightly more ladylike fashion, while April was still mastering how to properly defend herself.

Sugar sat patiently as April twirled another hot curler into her hair. She couldn't help how odd it still sometimes felt, this whole idea of "dolling up" every now and then. "You sure about this, April?"

April paused as she pinned the curler into place. "Shug, sweetie, you never know when you're going to get another fancy booking." She smiled. "You need to be prepared. Besides, it never hurts to try something new. Your hair is growing so fast!" She playfully tugged at one of the girl's raven locks.

"I think it runs in the family," Sugar snickered. She had to admit that she rather liked being able to grow her hair long for a change. The sudden mental image of Mike wearing curlers was almost too much. She choked back a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"...Nothin'." Before she gave herself an aneurysm from holding in her laughter, Shug tried for a subject change. "How are things with you an' Micky these days? Didn't you two have a date a couple nights ago or somethin'?"

A dash of pink ran across April's cheeks. "We had a little get-together, yes." She shyly pulled a piece of her own hair behind an ear.

Shug's face brightened. The grin on her friend's face was enough to let her know she was still rather smitten with the fluffy-headed drummer. She nudged her gently. "And?"

April straightened, resuming her dignified nature, though her smile betrayed her giddiness. "We had a lovely dinner, saw a very nice movie and then had a very exhilarating scientific discussion."

"Oh? Do tell." Shug crossed her arms, absolutely beaming.

The tall blonde gave her a light shove. "Sugar Nesmith, you naughty girl!" Shug nearly toppled off her seat, laughing. April pulled her upright again and fixed an errant curler. "We really did talk about science, silly girl. We somehow got on the subject of powering clocks with potatoes."

Sugar quirked an eyebrow, still half smirking. "Potatoes?"

"Well, that gave us both an idea," April continued. "So we thought maybe we could power my old hairdryer with a cabbage."

"What happened?"

April gnawed on her lower lip, eyes darting away a moment. She looked back at Sugar. "We burnt out my hairdryer."

"Oops."

"Incidentally, I have a nice bowl of cooked cabbage if you'd care for any."

Shug could only smile and shake her head. It was silly little things like that which endeared April to her all the more. Granted, yes, there were still memories of that brief attempt at dating, back in the days before there was such a creature as Sugar Nesmith, but they were growing faint. Any romantic notions that might have carried over from Mike's recollection had been quashed by more platonic feelings. April was a friend. A best friend.

She was Sugar's only female friend.

In a way, it made her sad. Because of Shug's very unusual circumstances, it was more than difficult to find someone who fully understood just what she had been through. It had been one hell of an adjustment, to say the very least. Being able to hash out all those strange, bothersome, decidedly _female_ feelings and problems with someone who could genuinely empathize… It was wonderful. To April's credit, she had helped Shug through some troubles for which she was completely unprepared, the worst being that terrible sensation that engulfed her very being once every three weeks; the best being that strange, slightly giddy feeling she sometimes got when she was around Peter. Shug knew that feeling—knew it quite well, truth be told—but the fact that its effects were in relation to her bass-playing friend and not, say, April instead, was rather frightening.

April had been there for her since the beginning, though. She arrived in a flurry of skirts and frilly underpinnings, ready to help Mike's poor, poor "twin sister," whose luggage had mysteriously been lost on its fictional journey from Texas to California. At the time, it was embarrassing. After all, "Shug" was a stage name Davy had invented to cover Micky's biggest scientific blunder to date, as well as Mike's humiliation at number one, being turned into a girl and number two, being subjected to all the trappings that went with it. Then, Micky's "cure" for Mike's disastrous condition didn't work properly and he managed to sort Mike and Sugar into separate entities. At the time, Shug's misery knew no limits, no depths; it was just unending. And yet, there was Miss Conquest, stopping by to check on her or sending "Feel better soon!" cards with quirky, big-eyed animals printed on them.

Looking back, it was April's kindness and caring that had won Sugar over. The statuesque blonde may have had a tendency to be overwhelmed by things at times, but she had a loving heart.

So Shug began lowering her defenses bit by bit, in tiny increments, the more comfortable she felt around April, thus resulting in regular overnight visits to the Conquest house. Their early evening entertainment usually varied, although there was always some form of trade involved. One night, Sugar taught April how to rewire an old curling iron, which April then used to fluff Shug's hair to ridiculous proportions. Another night was spent showing April the proper way to make and hold a fist so that she could throw a solid punch. This was followed by Sugar's first pseudo-pedicure, revealing something the girl didn't even know about herself—Her feet were incredibly ticklish. Afterward, take-out dinner of some sort was almost always ordered and the pair of them piled onto April's double bed and watched whatever disastrous feature was scheduled on "The Way Way Late Show" until the wee hours or until they both dropped from giggle-filled exhaustion.

It was funny how a night full of such simple things did so much good for Sugar's well-being. She could relax and not worry about gigs or chord progressions or late rent payments or that whole, pesky shared memories issue she had with Mike.

She wondered if she was actually finding herself.

As April carefully removed curlers from Shug's hair, the other girl took a glimpse in the hand mirror and crinkled her nose. "I look like Shirley Temple gone wrong." She shook her head, new curls bouncing everywhere.

"Hold on, I'm not finished yet," April scolded lightly. She ran a brush through Sugar's hair, turning the ends around her fingers until Shug was wearing a perfectly-coiffed flip hairstyle. "There! How is that?"

Shug once again checked the mirror. She gave a half-grin. "I'll take Marlo over Shirley any day." She did a double-take. "Did you put a little bow up there?"

"Maybe." April gave her friend a pat on the back. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, Sugar-dear. You look positively darling."

Another look in the mirror and Shug sort of shrugged her shoulders. She surprised herself with just how feminine she appeared, especially with her hair styled like that. She gave her head another shake, snickering at how that flip persisted in bouncing back into place. It still made her feel slightly uncomfortable, the whole being-a-girl experience, but she was determined to make it work.

While Shug played with her hair, April tended to the food order waiting in the kitchen. On tonight's menu? A small assortment of goodies from the China Boy Restaurant. It had been Sugar's suggestion; the place was under new management since the Doomsday Bug fiasco a couple of years prior. They did, however, impose a limit on the number of fortune cookies allowed per customer. Peter was to blame for that one.

The two girls settled into their usual places on April's bed, while the television blared the last portion of the late news. The flip in Shug's hair had begun to fade, leaving her with some impressive waves, as well as a small pink bow just above her bangs.

Mouth full of noodles, Shug pointed at the TV set with her chopsticks. "So, what's on tonight?"

April dutifully referred to the TV Guide. "_Beach Party Honeymoon_,starring Frankie Catalina." She noticed Sugar rolling her eyes. "What, you don't care for beach movies?"

"I still think Mammoth Pictures owes me money for goin' to see that trainwreck," Sugar laughed.

"That bad?"

"Mm-hmm."

April clapped her hands gleefully before propping herself against the padded headboard. "Oh, then this will be a fun one to watch!" She pulled a pillow into her lap and rested her takeout box of lo mein on it.

Given the chance, April could be quite the scathing movie critic. She and Sugar spent the first hour of the movie pointing out failures in continuity and glaring holes in the plot, what little plot there was. When Shug revealed the sad truth that heartthrob Frankie Catalina's fabulous mane was merely a lacquered hairpiece, April almost choked on a sweet pea, she was laughing so hard.

Once April had recovered, the revelation about Frankie's wiglet led to Shug sharing the story of the Monkees working with him as extras on a terrible movie. She stumbled in a few places, struggling to remember proper tense and that it had happened to _Mike_, not her. April was amused, though she gaped at Sugar more often than not, eyes puzzling over the girl's occasional stammer.

The movie continued to play in the background, long forgotten by this point in the night. Conversation swiftly moved from beach movie extras in a failing franchise to that one fateful day at the laundromat when April found herself the target of affection for a complete quartet.

The blonde sighed, half-giggling. "I still don't understand why the boys couldn't just be themselves. I know I like a lot of things, but that's no reason to try to be something you're not." She set aside her empty takeout carton and bounced the pillow in her lap, ruffling the trim. "Somehow, it worked out, right?" She nudged Shug with her elbow. "Just look at you and Peter."

Sugar felt her ears suddenly turn hot; her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies rather than peppered steak. She drew her knees up to her chest, folding the tail of her night shirt under her bottom.

"Honey, it's okay if you date him," April said, reassuring hand on Shug's shoulder. "I couldn't possibly be jealous. You're a perfect fit." She was quiet a moment, ponderous. "It's funny. Of the four of them, he was really the most honest. I realize that chamber music isn't the same as rock, but..."

"He hated sending that harpsichord back," Shug finished, a small hint of disappointment in her voice. "He can play anything. He just couldn't afford to keep it."

"Sort of like Mike and the motorcycle, huh?"

Sugar let go a chuckle and narrowed her eyes playfully. "That's right, baby. And fish can swim."

April laughed a moment, then her expression slowly turned worrisome. Her gaze was fixed on Sugar's face, first examining her eyes, then the curl of her lip as she smiled. Her own eyes boggled.

"...Michael?"

Shug didn't even think before opening her mouth. "Yeah, April?"

With a horrified gasp, the blonde girl practically leapt off the bed, making a grab for her robe. She threw it on, tying the belt as tightly as possible to cover her little pink nightie pajamas. She continued to gape at Sugar, who sat huddled in the duvet, confused.

"How? How are you...?" April pointed an accusing finger at the other girl. "How _dare_ you?"

"April, it's not like that," Shug pleaded. "_I'm_ not like that!" If only she hadn't let her defenses down. If only she had kept her mouth shut! "I can explain."

It appeared as though April wasn't going to wait for an explanation. She quickly turned on her heels and sprinted toward the bathroom, where she slammed the door shut behind her.

Sugar could feel her heart slipping right into her stomach. She clambered off the bed, landing in a clumsy tangle of legs and sheets in the floor. She righted herself and stood outside the bathroom door. She lightly tapped at the door. "April? April, please let me explain."

No answer.

"April, you're th' only other friend I've got," Shug persisted. She viciously pulled at her own hair. How could she have been so stupid? "I don't wanna lose you 'cause I put my foot in mah big, stupid mouth."

"I need a minute, thank you very much," April snapped from the other side of the door.

It stung. Deep.

"You're still my best girl friend, April," Sugar said, quietly patting the door. Her face burned, which meant she would do the one thing she hated more than anything in the world—She would cry. She yanked on her hair again, in the hopes it was enough to quell all those stupid, sad emotions.

Shug was quick in packing her things into her nap-sack. She didn't even bother with changing clothes. She simply pulled on the windbreaker she had borrowed from her brother and slipped on her shoes. It wasn't that long of a walk back to the Pad; she figured it was a couple of miles at the most. Sugar was mindful that she locked the door behind her as she left.

The neighborhood was eerily quiet at that hour. Unnerving. There was the faint sound of thunder in the distance, hinting that a storm was on the way. Sugar zipped the windbreaker closed and pulled the bag onto her back a bit tighter. A quick peek at her watch revealed it was just past 11:00. If she hurried and nothing happened, surely she could be back home close to midnight.

Back home, where her only friends were the guys who knew what she had been.

"You're an idiot," she grumbled at herself. "You're nothin' but a fool." Her eyes twitched and a few tears escaped. She instinctively pulled at her hair as hard as she could. "Stop. Stop it." The tears only became worse with each tug at her locks. "You should've known better. You cain't have friends. You're a freak of nature." She stopped at a light post, resting her head against it as her own personal waterworks flooded her vision. "You're an accident. You're a mistake. You're a damn science experiment!"

She lost track of how much time she had wasted just standing there, smacking her head against a post. She felt something cold hit the nape of her neck. The feeling came again, this time on her shoulders. It carried on, coming in faster waves of chilly wetness. She had not accounted for the storm at all. She should have been inside somewhere, safe and dry.

She looked to the sky and snarled. "Rainin' while I'm cryin' my eyes out and got no ride home? How original." As she resumed her trek home, she ran a hand through her bangs, brushing them out of her face. She found herself holding the pink bow April had put in her hair earlier. She stuffed it in her jacket pocket and kept walking.


	3. Chapter 3

Sugar thought nothing of arriving back at the Pad at such an hour. It was actually rather typical, considering how many show dates ran late for the group. She fumbled with her bag a moment, doing her best to fish her keys out of her jacket pocket. Her key was barely aimed at the lock when the door flew open.

"Sugar!" Mike stood there, jean jacket on and car keys in hand. "Shug, honey, where have you been?" The concern was evident on his face as he quickly scanned her currently soaked condition. "What happened to you?"

"If you really wanna know, I've been walkin' home in a cliché," she replied, voice flat. She shouldered her way past Mike and trudged into the house. Dropping her nap-sack at the foot of the spiral staircase, she was quick to shed her soaked windbreaker. Her head remained down, refusing eye contact with any of the boys; as she stared at the floor, though, she blinked and noticed a particular pair of worn loafers and mismatched socks had joined her very soppy moccasins. "Pete..."

When she looked up, she immediately noticed that Peter was practically dressed for battle, with towels wrapped around each arm, and another looped around the back of his neck. It looked almost ridiculous, but then again, she knew it would require quite a bit of work to dry her off after she'd been walking around in a torrential downpour. Rolling her eyes, she gave a tiny nod, and immediately, Peter wrapped one of the towels around her, vigorously rubbing at her shoulders. When he paused, she looked up at him, confused, feeling a pang of guilt when she saw the worry in his eyes as they flittered over her features. "You're shaking." He frowned, reaching a hand to her forehead. Though she flinched away, he persisted, adding, "And you're warm."

Sugar pushed Peter's hand away. "Ain't nothin'."

Peter stuck out his lip in a pout. He put another towel on Shug's head, practically obscuring her view in his attempts to dry her off. She sighed and sputtered, puffing at the terrycloth over her face. As Peter continued scrubbing at her head, she felt another set of hands close around her shoulders. They made their way down first one arm, then the other. The towel on her head at last slid back enough for her to see that Davy had taken one of the spare towels from Peter and doing his best to help get her dry.

"What's the idea, bein' out in this weather?" the Englishman asked. "It's not a fair night out at all, yeah?" He exchanged a look of distress with Peter, who excused himself to the downstairs bedroom. He returned with his own orange footie pajamas, neatly folded. Davy's face relaxed into a warm smile. "C'mon then, luv. Let's get you into something dry."

Mike remained oddly speechless for the moment, while Micky had seemed occupied with the phone from the moment Shug had slogged through the door. The drummer waved and picked up the phone, carrying it across the room. He propped the receiver between his neck and shoulder.

"Sugar, it's April. She's been calling all night. Said you disappeared on her?"

She peeked out from the towel draped on her head, black bangs in her face. The expression she wore was one of hurt. "She hates me now."

Micky's eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. "She's been blowing up the phone all night over you. I'd hardly call that hate." Shug pulled the towel over her face again.

Mike approached his twin, still clutching his car keys. He pulled the towel off her head, looking at her intently. "I'm gonna ask again, you stubborn gal—What happened?"

The girl took a deep breath and gnawed on her bottom lip. She crossed her arms over her chest, huddled against the cold metal of the stair railings. Admitting her mistakes had never been easy. It was even worse now, acknowledging them in front of her genetic equivalent. "She figured it out. I opened my big, stupid mouth an' she figured it out."

Mike's expression fell. "Aw, no. Baby Sister..."

"So...I left. No sense stayin' 'cause there's no reason when someone hates you." She took the folded orange fabric from Davy and ducked under the staircase, quickly whirling around to the top landing. Holding onto the end of her sopping nightshirt with her free hand, she disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

With Sugar having disappeared, Mike paced the floor, trying to decide whether or not he should ascend the steps and see if she needed any help. Torn between potentially invading her privacy and leaving her to sort things out on her own, though, he ended up listening to Micky's conversation with April. He got the feeling that calling Micky's girlfriend 'distraught' would hardly be sufficient in this case, and yet, the drummer continued trying to gently calm her down. "We'll talk to her, okay? ...No, she doesn't hate you." He ran a hand through his hair, tousling his already messy curls. "I know it's weird, April. In case you haven't noticed, everything about us is kinda weird..."

Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could already feel his head pounding; his nerves tightened into a knot in his stomach. "It's supposed to be our secret. She knows that."

"She's human, Mike. Just like you," Davy added. He picked the discarded towel up from the floor and wrung it out over the kitchen sink. "Sometimes she's more _you_ than you are yourself."

The Texan wrinkled his nose at the comment, as though it were an affront to his own personality. "We're nothing alike, Tiny. She's all...legs and hair and impulse."

"And you're what? All legs and hair and calm gentility?" Davy snorted. "I've seen you break a few things in your time, Michael. You just do it when you think no one is watching."

Mike's mouth pinched shut into a straight line across his face. His eyebrows drew together as he gave Davy a hard stare. "You tell me somethin'—What kind of a name is 'Sugar' anyway? You couldn't come up with anythin' better? Maggie? Valleri?"

As Mike continued staring at him, Davy seemed to become more and more uncomfortable. He groaned, eyes shaded by thick brows as they averted to the floor. Mike continued with his gaze, though, waiting for an answer, until finally Davy stopped squirming and pointed to the kitchen counter.

"I panicked," he said, pointing. "It was the first thing I thought might work. It sounded kind of...Southern."

When Mike realized just what Davy was gesturing toward, his heart felt a touch sick. Between the can of coffee and half a box of stale Corn Flakes was a small tin labeled _'sugar'_. He sighed deeply. He hated it for his own sake, but more than anything, he hated it for his sister, who was forever saddled with a hastily-chosen nickname. Even worse was his next realization... _She doesn't even have a real name._ He looked up at the second floor landing, then slammed his fist against the nearest object he could find. The totem pole by the front door now sported quite an impressive dent. The other boys said nothing, but rather stared at him as he shook his hand and quietly swore beneath his breath.

Peter propped his backside against a couch arm, halfway sitting on it. He bounced one leg nervously. "I wish she had phoned. We could have picked her up."

Micky ended his call with April and left the phone behind at the window stoop. "I think April will be alright once she's sure about Shug. She's worried about her." He joined Mike at the edge of the kitchen area, eyes glancing upward. "You know how April gets sometimes. She said she was kind of overwhelmed and didn't want Sugar to see her panicking. All she did was run into the bathroom for a while so she could clear her head... I guess Shug took it the wrong way. Anyway, April's really sorry. She'd like to tell Sugar that, too."

"I dunno, Sugar may not feel like talkin' for a while." The guitarist scratched at the back of his head, idly giving his hair a yank. Frustration, yet again. Just when he thought she had leveled out, something threatened to throw her into an emotional tailspin. This was by far the worst. "She needs time to get it out of her system first."

"From the minute I showed up, your favorite thing to do is talk about me like I'm not here!" Clad in Peter's pajamas, Sugar stood on the landing, hands wrapped around the railings. Her hair was still a wet mess, with most of it hanging over the left side of her face.

"Shug, it's not like that," Mike began. "We just—"

"You just wish I wasn't here!" She stomped her foot hard enough to rattle the broken grandfather clock at the opposite end of the landing. "Don't think you're th' only one who wishes things were normal again. It's all I think about!" Her voice quivered as she glared at her brother and sniffled, running her hand under her eyes. "How do you think it feels to wake up every mornin' havin' to remind yourself that you're not who you used to be? That whatever you thought you wanted in life has been completely ripped outta your hands?" She paused for a breath, which turned out to be a series of sobs, before lowering her head and finally allowing the tears to fall. "You don't know how hard it is to try to build a new life when you're so close to your old one, you have t'look at him every single damn day!"

Watching Sugar, watching her break like that, was painful for Mike. He may as well have eaten a pound of lead, the way his stomach felt. The two of them were so similar, copies of one another at the very core, yet in that instance, they couldn't have been more different. Mike wasn't much on expressing himself. He was quiet, methodical, logical for lack of better phrasing. For Sugar to open up like that, to share the ache in her soul, made him feel peculiar. He found himself momentarily embarrassed.

At the same time, however, the very real fear of having to start an entirely different life against one's will was crippling. Soul-crushing. He knew it; he had felt it. In a way, his worries were what helped bring his twin into existence in the first place.

He had never felt so guilty about something in his entire life.

Mike watched as Micky peered at Sugar from his vantage point in the kitchen. The drummer craned his neck, trying to make eye contact with the girl, despite her slumped position on the landing above. "But Shug, you're one of us. You can still do all the same things. It's not that different—"

Sugar shook her head, then looked up. This time, her eyes were fixed on Micky. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to be ripped in half, Micky? Because I'm pretty sure ya don't!"

Micky flinched, eyes wide.

"It's like bein' set on fire," Shug continued. "Like being split apart with a chainsaw! Everything hurts—Everything in you, about you, right down to your soul, hurts so much that you'd rather _die_ than have t'live through that much pain."

As Micky glanced over at Mike, the Texan expertly avoided his stare and stood with his arms folded around himself, directing his eyes anywhere away from his sister's gaze...or anyone else's, for that matter.

"Mike, you never said..."

Mike merely coughed and turned away, one hand rubbing over his own face.

Sugar pointed at Mike and stomped her foot again. "See that? You just think of me as another..._him!_"

"But—but—Shug, you kind of are!"

Sugar's eyes looked wild. She took all of two seconds to grab something from her bedroom before hurling it down directly at Micky's head. "You go to _Hell_, Micky Dolenz!"

Thankfully, Micky had the sense to duck as an alarm clock careened toward his head. It brushed by him and bounced off the table with enough force to land in the clogged sink with a sickening, metallic _'ploop'_. Not long after, the sink seemed to "burp" and the murky water began to slip down the drain. At any other time, this would have been hilarious to the group. Instead, their eyes were fixed once again on the upstairs bedroom door as it slammed shut. Shug's crying was painfully audible.

Davy, still clutching onto the pile of damp towels, did his best to break the awkward silence. "Well, at least she fixed the sink?"

"She hurts, guys," Peter said quietly. "She really, really _hurts_."

Micky slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, propping his elbows on his knees. He stared across the house, eyes focused on nothing. "I didn't know it was that bad. She never said anything." He glanced at Mike. "_You_ never said anything."

"Look, Mick, I—I didn't wanna worry you none," the Texan boy stammered. He still felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. "There are just some things best left unsaid."

"Unless you're Sugar," Davy interjected with a snort. "Then you just let it all go at once."

Micky groaned and shook his head. "You want the truth? I think I needed to hear it."

There was a sudden silence in the house, save for footsteps coming from the upstairs bedroom. If there was one perfectly consistent thing about living at the Pad, it was the fact that it was never ever that quiet.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm so sorry."

Mike had just opened his mouth to respond when a shriek echoed through the house. It was followed by a loud _'thud'_, then another, and another, as well as a series of crashes, peppered with Sugar's screams. Micky buried his face in his hands. Davy excused himself to the bathroom to hang up the armload of damp towels. Peter's eyes remained fixed on the door upstairs, while Mike shut himself into the downstairs bedroom. Try as he might to sleep, it was near impossible as Sugar's tantrum continued into the night.

* * *

Author's Note: Sugar finally broke. :( I think it's understandable.


	4. Chapter 4

It was much later in the night when Peter chanced a peek into Shug's room. In fact, it was early morning, though it would still be a while before the sun even thought about making an appearance.

The door proved difficult to open; it was blocked by a half-empty dresser drawer and the pile of clothes dumped from it. Peter gently pushed it aside first, then neatly folded and returned its contents before setting it in front of the dresser frame. He was feeling rather proud of himself, until he got a better look at the room.

It was a wreck. Clothes were strewn everywhere, with some garments on the floor and others haphazardly hanging onto some of the framed pictures on the wall. Halfway across the room, Peter noticed another drawer, split at its seams. A third was jammed into the window frame and a few more shirts and socks clung to the windowsill, flapping in the early morning breeze.

As his eyes adjusted to the warm glow of the nightlight, Peter caught the shine off the slick pages of several of Mike's old car magazines. The pages littered the floor and most of them were either crumpled into little balls or shredded entirely.

His bare feet brushed against something hard, something with sharp edges. He stooped to recover it and felt his heart sink when he saw that it was half of a 45 RPM record. There were several of them scattered about, all broken into pieces. He felt even worse when he read the title of the scrap of vinyl in his hand: "Act Naturally" by Buck Owens.

Peter stood from the floor and happened to catch a glimpse of the closet, which had mostly been rendered bare, save for a few half-hung clothes and wire hangers now bent into abstract shapes. More than a few of them cluttered the floor, along with the rest of the mess. The closet piqued his interest in the most peculiar way, since it seemed that only Mike's old clothes were the ones thrown around the room. While still barely worn, the handful of feminine items that April had gifted to Shug remained on their hangers, safely pushed to the farthest end of the rack.

There were few things untouched by Sugar's wrath. One was a box filled with page after page of hand-scrawled sheet music and what looked like song lyrics. Peter recognized them as some of Michael's creations.

The other was her new bed, upon which Sugar herself was piled, a heap of misery in orange flannel. Peter reached to pull her hair aside, intending to feel her forehead again. She was sick! That fever had to go and fast. As he reached for her hair, his hand brushed against her face—It was wet.

Peter shook his head. "No one should ever be this sad, Sugar. Especially you."

He took a seat on the floor, propping his back against the side of the mattress. Since Shug's arm was partially protruding over the side of the bed, the blond boy propped his head against it, snuggling into the crook of her elbow. His head was close enough to her face that he could hear her low snores, punctuated with a few sniffles. It was still early—or late, depending on one's point of view—so Peter closed his eyes and allowed himself to doze off. "Please be okay, Sugarbear," he yawned quietly.

* * *

Sugar couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep. She also couldn't remember when they had gotten a pet, apparently, since she seemed to be stroking what might have been...a lion? Her fingers ran through its long, soft mane again and again, as it slept quietly against her. It seemed to enjoy the attention, only stirring enough to breathe.

The tingling sensation in Sugar's fingers brought her out of her twilight dream and back to her trashed bedroom. As she curled and flexed her hand to work out the numbness, she realized that the "lion's mane" she had been stroking in her sleep was actually Peter's hair. His head had fallen back against the side of the bed. He was still snoring rather softly.

Shug propped her head up on her opposite hand and ruffled the boy's hair. It fell back into his face. He didn't budge. Sugar repositioned herself enough to put both her arms over his shoulders and give him a gentle hug. Even though it still sometimes felt awkward, she managed to give him a little kiss on the cheek, then sighed and propped her head next to his. "Pete, why do you put up with me?"

"I dunno," Peter yawned. "Love, maybe?"

Shug sighed again, keeping her head against Peter's. He reached up and patted her arm.

"You don't... You don't really want Micky to go to Hell, do you?" His voice was quiet, timid, as though he were afraid of what her answer might be.

Sugar's head dropped and her shoulders slumped. She unwrapped her arms from around Peter's shoulders, pushing herself upright on the bed.

"Shug?"

"No, Peter," she finally responded, albeit very nearly silent. She cleared her throat. "Never in a million years."

Peter turned to face her, puzzled expression very clear. "Then...why did you say that?"

"I was angry." She buried her face in her hands. "I was angry and sometimes when you're that angry, you say things you shouldn't. Things you don't really mean."

The boy seemed to ponder this a moment before climbing onto the bed to sit next to his girlfriend. "Why are you mad at Micky?"

From six months' worth of new memories, Sugar could pinpoint the thing that bothered her more than anything else. _One._ "He forgets that I'm a person."

Peter looked confused, tilting his head as if maybe the meaning of what Shug said would slip into his brain. She patted his knee, comprehending his bewilderment. Sugar amended her statement.

"He can only think of me as a walkin' science project. Even worse is that I'm sure he figures I'm just a girl version of Mike and that's as far as it goes."

"You're his twin," Peter said very matter-of-factly, "but that doesn't make you some kind of...mimeograph copy." His expression brightened. "You're a better cook than he is."

"Thanks, Pete." Her face at last allowed a smile.

"And personally, I'd rather kiss you than him," he chuckled. He paused, again thoughtful. "Are you mad at Micky for making you?"

Sugar was caught so off-guard by such a question that all she could do was stare at Peter with a stunned look frozen on her face.

"I hope that's not the reason," he went on, "because if it is, you should be mad at me, too."

"Why would I ever be mad at you, Peter?"

"I wished that you could stay."

Shug couldn't react. She didn't know how. Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest and fell against Peter's side. There was an immediate electric spark between them and they both yelped, scrambling to opposite ends of the day bed.

"I forgot flannel does that sometimes," Peter said, clearly embarrassed.

"How do you wear these things all the time?" Sugar ran her hand down her opposite arm, igniting static sparks the length of her sleeve.

Peter shrugged. "I don't scuffle around as much as you do, I guess."

Sugar couldn't help the small giggle that escaped her.

"Feel any better?"

"Yeah. A little. ...Thanks, Pete."

"PSST!"

A noise came from the open door. Peter and Sugar both leaned forward enough to peer onto the landing. Shug caught a glimpse of a hockey stick. "Wuzzat?"

"CAW CAW!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Excuse me a minute," he said as he scooted off the bed and headed to the landing.

"Micky, what are you doing?" The blond glared at his friend through narrowed eyes.

"There was supposed to be a signal, Pete. We talked about this." The drummer peered around Peter, catching a quick glimpse at the lanky girl seated on the bed. "If it's safe, you do a bird call. If not, you go _'moo'_."

Peter put his palm to his forehead and rolled his eyes. With great resignation, he took a breath, puffed his cheeks and... "QUACK QUACK QUACK!"

Micky saluted, jostling the gold-colored football helmet on his head. He took Peter by the shoulders and looked steadfastly into his eyes. "Thank you for your bravery, soldier."

Peter just sighed while Micky shoved past him into the bedroom. As Micky barreled his way through, Peter seized the hockey stick from his grip.

"Hey!" Micky pouted and made a grab for the thing. Peter held it as far away from him as possible. Micky may have been taller, but Peter had the advantage of slightly longer arms. Not to mention that Micky had thwarted his own mobility by having a couch cushion strapped to his chest as additional "protection".

Peter's jaw was firmly set. "How do you think she'd feel if you went in there with this? It's bad enough that you're wearing a helmet."

Micky's shoulders fell and he doffed the sporting headgear. He presented it to Peter, though not without some degree of protest.

"Fine. Here."

Carefully treading into the room, Micky untied the twine holding the cushion to his torso. He held it under his arm awkwardly.

"You're really afraid of me, aren't you?" Sugar's voice was low and quiet. Micky felt ashamed.

"I've seen you pretty angry before, but nothing like last night." He fidgeted a moment with his pajama buttons. He did his best to avoid her gaze. It was too hurtful.

"I'm sorry, Micky."

The drummer's head shot up, curls falling in his face. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Micky groaned and swept his hair out of his eyes. "You know somethin'? I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm the one who did this to you."

"It is what it is," she replied. Shug patted the space next to her, offering as friendly a smile as she could. When Micky hesitated, Sugar held up both her hands, palms facing outward. "See? Nothing to throw. You're safe."

With a bit of reluctance, Micky took a seat next to her. He stared at her for a few minutes—The way her view was fixed into empty space; the sadness in those too-familiar brown eyes; her habit of picking the fabric of whatever she was wearing. She was still so very _Michael_. At least to Micky she was. "Is Mike still in there?"

"Micky..."

"No, really." Micky crossed his legs and propped his elbows on his knees.

"Why do you do that? I'm not him."

"Because," the boy answered quietly, "I still have a hard time believing I split you in half and—" he stopped, hoping he could choose his words carefully, which was something to which he wasn't terribly accustomed. For six months, he had watched her struggle to shake off her old life and redefine herself. There had been other, much milder tantrums, name mix-ups, a full-on identity crisis. He knew because he had kept meticulous notes on her. It was for science, he had insisted. However, the guilt that had settled into his stomach and grown over the past few months was getting harder and harder to ignore. She was a human being, not just some experiment. "I can't deal with knowing I hurt my best friend so badly."

Sugar didn't respond, although she turned her attention to Micky's hazel-green eyes, which were full of regret. She opened her mouth to say something, but the brunet stepped in again.

"I know what you're gonna say. You're gonna say, 'But Micky, Mike's just faaaaahne'." His jaw slid to the side a little as he imitated her Texan drawl. "And that's just it—One Mike _is_ fine. He's downstairs with a pillow on his head, snoring up a storm. But the _other_ Mike isn't." He poked at Sugar's arm and, never one for recognizing "personal space", he edged closer to her face, very nearly touching noses. "He's still in there. I can see him. And I worry about him all the time." His voice broke; his eyes looked sad. "I screwed up. Big time. I'm surprised I didn't kill you!"

He blinked, then squinted, and took a minute to wipe at his eyes with a pajama sleeve.

"Then," he went on, "hearing you felt like dying?" He didn't even bother hiding his emotions at this point. He threw his arms around Sugar, burying his face in her hair. "I'm sorry, Mike. I am so _so_ sorry."

Micky could count on one hand the times he had been really and truly upset. Emotionally rattled. Nearly having Davy taken back to England by his grandfather was one instance. Completely losing his voice thanks to an unlucky charm was another. He was surprisingly resilient when it came to almost every situation thrown at him, unless it involved something or _someone_ for whom he cared very deeply.

Sugar held onto him tightly, crying with him. Micky knew what she wanted, and, on the most basic level, he understood the fact that Michael and Sugar were two separate beings. Intellectually, though, he couldn't wrap his head around it, no matter how hard he tried.

As they sat there, and as Micky despaired of ever actually _getting it_, Shug sighed. He sat back, meeting her eyes again. Something was different about them; they were calmer, less anxious, _familiar_. More than he had in the past few months, he saw Mike there, and allowed the tiniest of smiles to creep onto his face.

"If you tell anyone else I said this, after all the work I've put in tryin' to get them to stop thinkin' of me as Mike..." She let the threat hang for a moment, but Micky already knew where she was going. Wrapping his arms around her again, he gave her another squeeze, until she squeaked out, "Little too tight, there!"

He loosened his grip. After taking a couple breaths, Sugar said, "It's okay, Mick. I'm still here. You're right. I always will be."

Micky eased up and sat back. He scrubbed at his face with his shirt hem. "It really was an accident. I didn't mean for all this to happen to you. You know that, right?" He saw her ears blush before she hugged him again.

"You should've had double the attitude," the boy sniffled. "This isn't what I intended."

Raising an eyebrow, Sugar grinned rather mischievously. "What would this world need with _two_ Mike Nesmiths? Come on, he's so grouchy an' moody. Not to mention bossy..."

"And doesn't give himself nearly as much credit as he deserves," Micky added. "He needs to keep that in mind."

"Why don't you tell him that?"

The drummer paused and blinked, like he was processing the suggestion through a series of keypunch machines in his head. "I thought he already knew."

"If you've never told him, how would he know?"

"I thought you guys had magic twin powers."

Incredulous, Sugar pressed her palms into her eyes...and began giggling.

Micky angled his head under her chin. "You've cracked up, haven't you?"

The girl's giggles progressed into laughter. "We're not a shared entity, Micky. We're two people now. Two different people."

"What's it like? You've had to, I dunno, adjust to some weird stuff."

"You 'member that time we tried to run back the odometer on th' Monkeemobile?"

Micky's eyes brightened. "Oh yeah! We were flat broke and couldn't pay for the fix unless it was under warranty. So many miles." He wrinkled his nose. "How far back did we run that thing, anyway?"

"Well," Shug said thoughtfully, "since Peter put a brick on the accelerator, I practically had a new car, goin' by the numbers."

The unusual comparison registered with Micky at last. "New car. New person."

"New person," Sugar repeated. "Similar design, but...new chassis and the gear box is a different model."

"Four-speed or five-speed?"

"Five. Definitely five. ...Wait." Her eyebrows knit together in consternation. "The point is that while Mike and I are similar, we're not th' same anymore. It's like startin' life over at twenty-four, but you're a new person."

"The five-speed model." Micky grinned.

"Right," Shug agreed with a faint laugh. "It's kinda neat at times, then other times, I forget who I'm s'posed to be."

Micky's smile faded. Once again, he looked very ashamed of what he had done. "I ruined your life, Mike."

Sugar shook her head in adamant disagreement. "Mike's life is as normal as can be expected for one of us," she said. "Mine will be, too." She was suddenly quiet. She seemed rather guilty herself. "I'm sorry I lost my temper last night. An' I'm especially sorry I tried to cold-cock you with my alarm clock. If I'd actually hurt you, I don't think I could look you in the eye ever again."

Micky drew his knees to his chest and lay his head on them. He directed his view away from the girl, his heart still firmly seated in the pit of his stomach. This whole thing was such a mess and he was responsible. For a moment, he considered the fact that _he had legitimately created life_, that he had somehow cloned an adult via a very strange form of mitosis. He scrunched his nose and pushed the thought out of his head. Six months of thinking like that had resulted in a fight with someone he considered a brother. Well, sister, rather, considering the circumstances. Science was important, yes, but there were things much more valuable than his haphazard studies.

"How do we fix this, Sugar?"

"One step at a time, good buddy." She tilted her head enough to catch her friend's eye. "First step is clearin' the air. I think we've done that."

Micky nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure we've got that covered."

"Next is forgiveness."

"How are we there?"

Shug put a hand to her cheek, pondering the question. After a brief lull, she tapped at Micky's head. "Are we still friends?"

The boy's eyes boggled, worried. "I...I sure hope so!" Sugar's smile put him at ease. "What comes after that?"

"Movin' forward," she answered. "So in a way..." Shug gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Micky sat up so fast, he felt a touch dizzy. His face began turning pink, then wasted no time blossoming into a full red blush. "Thank you for the new life, Micky. I'll try not to break it."


	5. Chapter 5

As daylight crept through the big bay window, Mike's gaze was fixed on the colored test pattern beaming from the TV. He continued to stare as the sun slowly rose in the sky, brightening the entirety of the Pad. His mood, however, remained a bit dark.

He could sense footsteps behind him, edging closer. They were small and quick, which meant it had to be Davy.

"Oi, Mike," the boy began, concern in his voice. "You alright?"

"M'fine, Tiny," Mike groused.

Davy looked at the television screen. "There's nothin' on, man. You're watching the bulls-eye."

"Ah know."

"Why?" he asked, taking a seat next to his friend on the sofa.

Mike looked at Davy through a screen of dark bangs, face solemn. "I'm thinkin'."

"How long have you been up? I heard you leave, but I thought maybe you were having a rough night." He nodded toward the bathroom.

"Nah, just couldn't sleep is all," Mike answered, finally breaking away from his staring contest with the TV set. "Got a lotta noise in my head."

"It wasn't just in your head, mate," Davy scoffed, thumbing toward the upstairs room. "Don't know when she settled down."

Mike looked rather mortified and let go a sigh. "She wears my temper just a little too well. She's got good reason, though."

"So, what do we do about it? How do we help her?"

Mike tapped the end of his nose. "That's why I'm thinkin'. I need to _do_ something. My gut and my good sense both say so."

The wooden flooring in the house was old and warped in places, guaranteed to squeak at the worst possible times. One cranky plank on the upstairs landing signaled that life had returned to the second floor. The groaning of the floorboards was soon joined by the low buzz of voices, all muttering together. Mike couldn't understand what they were saying, bu the pitch of each was instantly recognizable: Shug's alto twang, mixed with Peter's calm bass and Micky's excitable tenor. The cries of old wood quieted and were replaced by the gentle "tmp" of shoeless feet on metal stairs. Mike stretched and turned around on the couch, propping his head on the back cushion. Davy did the same, observing.

"Mornin'," the Texan chimed, though rather flatly.

Micky and Peter muttered half-hearted greetings; Peter waved. Shug ducked her head, avoiding eye contact with her brother.

Mike sighed again, this time in frustration, and cleared his throat. "Sugar, I'm sorry about last night."

The girl's eyes widened and she gaped at her twin, baffled. "Why are _you_ apologizin'? I'm the one who lost her temper and tried to kill Micky with a clock." Micky cringed.

"You get that temper honest," Mike said, "and you're a lot more open with your feelings than I am. I swallow 'em and pray I don't end up with an ulcer someday."

Sugar's expression showed acknowledgment of such and Mike wondered if during the big split she had inherited that from him, too. He pressed on.

"I've still got a couple years' worth of birthday money from Aunt Kate and we've had better luck with some of our gigs lately..." He stood from the sofa and approached his twin, putting both hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and Mike could see little differences between her face and his. Sugar's eyes seemed wider, framed by longer lashes and separated by a nose that had a slope similar to his at the bridge, but was the slightest bit smaller and more feminine. He could still see hints of himself, but that's all they were.

"Please don't say you're kickin' me out, Mike. That'd break my heart," Shug whimpered. She sniffled, fighting off both her cold and her tears.

"Mike, no!" Peter shouted in protest. "You can't—I lov—just—No!"

"Sugar, no no no!" Mike gave up and slid his arms around her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. "No, honey. You move when you're ready. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go see Mama."

Shug pulled herself from her brother's grip. "For real?"

Mike nodded earnestly. "We'll talk to her, okay? She'd be glad to see you."

Sugar grabbed him in as tight a hug as before and cried into his shoulder. "I love you, ya big dumb ox."

"Ah, Texas. The Nesmith homeland," Micky mused as he plopped onto the couch and unceremoniously fell back onto Davy, squishing him into the sofa's arm. "Please tell me we won't have to fight nasty gun-totin' neighbors this time." He laughed as the smaller boy shoved him upright again.

"Nah," Mike chuckled, keeping an arm over his sister's shoulder. "It'll be a nice, quiet little visit this time. We can see Kate and Lucy and—"

"Mike, they don't know me!" Sugar bristled. "I mean, they do, but they don't..."

"Don't worry," the Texan said with a disarming grin. "You already know Kate, so that's a start. They're all gonna love you regardless." He kissed her forehead.

Davy raised his hand. "One suggestion this time, please, Mike?"

"Anything, Tiny."

"Can we take the car? No golf carts."

"Agreed," Peter added with a firm nod.

Mike smiled. "Start packin', then."

* * *

April watched as Micky and Peter repeatedly fumbled around the house in an effort to get "organized" for their last-minute road trip. Twice, Micky managed to stumble over his own feet and Davy was very nearly stuffed into a large suitcase. In Peter's defense, Mike had pointed out, Davy was sort of bundled up in an armload of clothes.

April could only shake her head and laugh. "Honestly, is this how you pack for shows?"

"Usually there's more planning involved," Davy answered kindly. He combed his hair back into place with his fingers. "And we pack the night before."

Mike stuck his head in the doorway. "Davy, did you get the blankets?"

The English boy rolled his eyes. "We're going to Texas mid-summer. Why do we need blankets?"

The guitarist pulled a face and glared at his smaller friend. "Because," he grumbled, "it gets chilly at night there, plus Shug's still sick." He propped his arm on the door knob. "B'sides, we're in such close quarters anyway, I'm pretty sure we'll all catch it before it's over. I'd like to be prepared."

Davy scowled. "That's nice, that is. Say hello to your Auntie by bringin' her a cold?"

"She caught a cold?" April's smile faded and she clutched at her necklace in worry. "Oh no... Poor girl!"

"No worries," Mike said reassuringly. "Aunt Kate can fix it. She makes a chili that'll burn a cold right out of ya!"

"That's a long drive for a bowl of chili, Michael," April pointed out. "Couldn't you just ask for the recipe?"

Mike fidgeted with the doorknob a moment, then straightened his hat on his head. "I...uh...I cain't cook chili." He sheepishly slid out of the doorway and back outside. "Don't forget the blankets, Davy!"

Exasperated, Davy excused himself to do as he was told.

The flurry of activity was fascinating to observe, though it was more controlled chaos than anything else. Arms occupied with guitar cases, Peter made his way to the front door. Micky seemed to ignore the other boy's presence entirely and ran past him, knocking into his shoulder. Instead of falling, the bassist executed a near-perfect pirouette before regaining his balance and heading out to the car. April found herself wanting to applaud such a performance. Instead, she opted to stay out of the way, lest she end up bowled over by a Monkee. After the mess they once made of her laundromat, she knew their potential for accidental disaster.

Micky ran back and forth from the bathroom to the downstairs closet, then to the bedroom. Out of breath, he stopped in front of the statuesque blonde and took her hand, placing a keyring in her palm. He closed her fingers around it. "Here. That's the front door, the back door and the garage."

April examined the keys, committing their shape and assigned positions to memory. She counted them a couple of times and noticed something was "off". She held up a smaller, odd-shaped one. "What's this little key for?"

Micky gave a shy grin. "Oh! That's for the jukebox. I kinda forgot it was on there." He gestured toward the kitchen as he walked to the stairs. "Anything in the fridge is yours for the taking while you're here."

"All we've got right now is some ketchup and a box of baking soda," Peter said, brushing past the couple. He paused, then beamed at April. "That's okay, though, 'cause Sugar makes the best tomato soup with ketchup packets."

Horrified, April gawked between the two boys. "Ketchup soup?"

"It's really good during those lean weeks," Micky defended with a shrug. "That reminds me..." He grabbed a spoon from the kitchen table and ran it down the stair railings. "Sugar, have you got your stuff? We gotta go!"

A cheerful, but muffled reply came from behind the upper bedroom door. "Comin'! Hold your horses, Dolenz!" Shug wobbled out of her room, suitcase in one hand, while holding her nap-sack steady on her shoulder with the other. She sniffled, scrunching her nose, then began her trek down the stairs. About halfway down, she locked eyes with April, who stood just outside the kitchen area. For a moment, April was hopeful and she smiled warmly. Her expression quickly faded as Sugar looked away, focusing on her feet.

"Sugar-dear?" April reached for her, barely touching her shoulder. The other girl looked at her briefly, eyes showing hurt. She shrugged her off and hurried outside. April groaned and stared at the door, so hoping Shug would come back inside and talk to her. The silent treatment stung worse than anything Sugar could have said. Defeated, April propped herself against the back of the sofa.

Micky put an arm around her, squeezing her close. "She'll come around, April. Don't worry."

Fighting tears, the blonde rested her head on Micky's shoulder. "I want to be her friend again, Micky. That's all."

"Give her some time. She'll come around. We're going to see her and Mike's family in Texas, so she'll be able to clear her head while we're there, too." He gave her a kiss. "Don't worry." April nodded and wiped her eyes as Micky broke away and walked to the door.

"Take care of her, okay? I worry about her."

Micky smiled and gave her another kiss. "No worries, April. We'll see you in a few days."

The door creaked shut behind the curly-haired boy. Not long after, the motor of the GTO roared to life, then faded into nothing, leaving April all alone in the beach house.

* * *

With the quintet gone, the Pad was so terribly quiet. It felt downright eerie. April did her best to shake the feeling and occupied herself with tidying up the place. Her primary reasoning was that it would get her mind off the worries she had for her friend.

April sorted and neatly stacked an assortment of magazines on the coffee table, then found one of Davy's maracas rolling around under the couch. There were well-worn, slightly splintered drumsticks shoved here and there; she located one in the loveseat's cushions, another in the kitchen sink and still another in Mr. Schneider's coat pocket, just behind his hanky. April shook her head and returned the sticks to their proper home next to Micky's drum set. "Really, boys..." She ran a hand over the snare, taking note of how worn it was before getting back to her original task.

She continued her efforts to straighten up everything: She put away dishes and made the boys' beds, then went upstairs to organize Sugar's room. It was the least she could do after hurting her feelings so.

Nothing could have prepared her for the mess that greeted her in the upper bedroom.

Sugar was usually quite neat. Things were always perfectly arranged to suit her needs. April remembered how proud Shug had been of finally getting her own private space in the house. It had meant so much to her. Now she was surrounded by discarded clothes, broken records and page after page of shredded magazines. It seemed like everything of which Shug had been so proud was destroyed in no time flat.

She spotted the open closet door and was almost terrified to peer inside past the bent hangers and half-hung Western shirts. A glint of green caught her eye, however, and April took a closer look, finding the old green taffeta dress she had given to Shug earlier in the year. It still sported bloodstains and ripped seams, reminders of Sugar's assault and of her amazing show of self-defense. April slid the hanger from the clothes rack, revealing the remainder of the clothes she had donated to her friend. All were neatly hung and organized with great care. "Oh, Sugar, honey," April whimpered, hugging the green dress close.

Now it made sense. The laundress reasoned that all along, it should have been clearer to her than a fresh rinse cycle, especially after Micky's explanation over the phone. The wreckage consisted of _Mike's _belongings, some of which Shug was forced to share with him out of pure necessity. She had destroyed them only after April had initially rebuffed her. That horrible feeling of guilt again washed over April, making her sick to her stomach. Her own words came back to haunt her.

"_How dare you?"_

As she stooped to pick up a shattered bedside lamp, her knees buckled and she ended up in the floor. She gaped at the broken pieces of glass before her, then her eyes again took in the extent of the damage in the entire room. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. Her face burned and her throat ached.

"_April, you're th' only other friend I've got..."_

The tall blonde pressed her forehead against her kneecaps, heaving sobs. She was Shug's only other friend, her only girl friend...and April had outright rejected her when Sugar needed her understanding most. "I have to fix this, Sugar. There has to be a way..."


	6. Chapter 6

The afternoon sun beat down on the desert landscape, as the passing scenery began to transform from what Micky called "big, boring rocks and dirt" to more greenery in the form of trees and plots of crops. Mike slowed the car as he made a wide turn into a dirt drive. The Pontiac shook as it ran over the slats of the cattle grid, then sped down the driveway, leaving a dust cloud in its wake. It wasn't long before a red barn came into sight, then a little green farmhouse. Squinting at the house, Mike parked the car and had a better look.

"Somethin' seems off," he muttered, scratching his head.

Sugar peered out the car window. She shook her head in a full double-take, as a smile crept across her face. "She built onto the house! Mike, she's usin' her oil money!" Bouncing in her seat, Shug grabbed Peter in a hug and cheered. "Aw, this is the best thing that coulda happened to her."

"Right now, the best thing for me is to get out of this car." Micky groaned and stretched, cracking his backbone. "I can't feel my legs, man. I think someone stole them." He narrowed his eyes at the middle passenger seat. "...Pretty sure it was Davy."

"Huh-wha?" Davy cracked an eyelid, then pulled his jacket back over his head. "Wake me when we're there, right?"

Mike snatched the windbreaker from Davy's hands. "Welcome to Texas, Tiny."

"I can't wait to see how the old place looks on the inside now," Sugar said as she hurried out of the car, running toward the house. "I wonder if she kept my room th' same..." She was almost to the porch when she stopped in her tracks and turned toward Mike. The look on her face was pained. "She's not gonna have any idea who I am."

Mike's shoulders slumped and he gave his sister a pat on the back, his hand lingering there a moment, as though trying to hold her steady. "C'mon, she'll be glad to meet you. You're family."

"Not the family she knows," Shug replied, voice low. "You don't just show up an' drop a new, full-grown sibling on someone. 'Hi Kate, this is mah long-lost sister!' Yeah, that's gonna go over just great." She scrunched her nose and trudged back toward the Pontiac, pushing past the other three boys and climbing into the back seat as before.

Mike raised his arms toward her, then sighed and dropped them again, hands hitting his thighs. "Now, Shug, be reasonable—"

"Michael, is that you?"

The boy's ears perked up at the muffled voice. His attention went straight to the front door; his face was absolutely beaming as the top half of the divided door opened. "Hi, Aunt Kate!"

Kate's eyes boggled and she drew her hand to her mouth, so great was her surprise. She hurriedly unlatched the bottom half of the door and ran toward her nephew, seizing him in a hug. "Mike, what are you doin' out here?" She stood back from him and, still holding onto his arms, tsked and shook her head in disapproval. "You've lost weight, honey. Are you sure they're feedin' you out there in California?"

Mike blushed and shrugged out of his aunt's grip. "It's nothin' to worry about, Kate. I may have had to cut back on the biscuits," he said with a laugh.

"It's good seein' you, anyway." Kate smiled. She looked past him, sighting Micky, Peter and Davy. Incredulous, she playfully smacked her nephew in the arm. "And you dragged all your poor little friends out here, too?" Hands on her hips, she addressed the group. "And you _let_ him bring you out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Family always travels together," Peter chirped happily.

Kate's eyes focused beyond her nephew and his friends. "What in th' world is that?" she asked, first pointing at the car before walking past Mike to get a closer look. Half-folding her arms, she put a hand to her cheek. "Merciful heavens, Michael. That's not the car I gave you, is it?"

Mike slouched, cheeks burning as they turned nearly the same color as the Monkeemobile. He shuffled his feet in the dirt path in front of the house. "I might have made a few...modifications."

The older woman rolled her eyes. "Explains the golf cart you boys used last time." She ran a hand alongside the vehicle, examining it as she circled. "At least it's a nice shade of red. I'll give it that." As she made her way around the car, she peered into the windows.

Mike saw his aunt suddenly stiffen and jump back a step. She didn't stop there, however. Kate flung the car door open, inadvertently unrolling a scrunched up pile of blankets equipped with long, thin legs. The heap of fabric scrambled around on the ground a moment, before a human head emerged, face obscured by unruly, dark hair.

"She, uh, she found Shug," Micky said, shrugging. Mike covered his face with both hands and groaned.

Sugar shook her head and pulled her hair out of her face before smiling at the woman standing over her. "Um... Hi." She twiddled her fingers in a shy wave.

Kate threw both hands on her hips, head snapping toward her nephew and his friends. "You boys in the habit of hidin' strange women in your car?"

"Uh, well, that's...That's..." Mike pointed and stammered in an attempt to force out some passable excuse. Damage control usually came easy to him, almost second nature considering the vast array of strange happenings for which he had to account on a regular basis, but for some reason his knack for such a thing was failing him in the face of family. "She's—"

"Peter's girlfriend," Sugar interrupted as she struggled to her feet. She straightened out her shirt and held a hand toward Kate, smiling. "It's nice to...ah...meet you, Aunt Kate. I'm Sugar."

"Sugar," Kate repeated, raising an eyebrow. Not once did she hold out her hand in return. "Hmm. The accent says Texas, but th' lack of manners says big city. I don't a'cotton to strangers gettin' that familiar with me right off th' bat, so callin' me Mrs. Nesmith will be just fine, thank you."

As the smile faded from Shug's face, Mike felt his own heart slide into his stomach. He knew she felt the same, just by looking at her. Heartsick.

In seemingly no time, Kate's attention was turned toward her younger relative and she made her way back to the house. "Why didn't you call ahead this time, Michael? Lucy an' I have got plans to go out of town in a couple days."

Mike fidgeted, yanking his hat off his head and picking at the pom on top. Call ahead? He was supposed to call ahead? "I might've overlooked that little detail," he coughed. As rotten as he felt right then, he still forced a grin, though it faltered spectacularly. "Surprise?"

Kate gave her head a shake and let her eyes roll. "They're nice boys, Mike, but they're gonna ruin you yet, I swear." Smiling, she gave him a pat on the cheek. "C'mon, y'all get your things and I'll show you 'round the place. Things've changed since you were here last time!"

Pulling his hat back onto his head, Mike cast a glance at Sugar, who was seated in the dirt, her back against the car and her head propped on her knees. She shuddered and Peter was quickly by her side with both arms around her. Mike originally had found himself very dubious about the tales of twins' shared feelings, although now, he was having second thoughts. Maybe thirds.

"Things have changed for us, too, Aunt Kate," he sighed. "You just don't know how much."

* * *

The Nesmith ranch was Mike's childhood home. The last time he had visited, the house was faded and worn, but Kate had always done her best to handle its upkeep after Uncle Jack passed. Since the discovery of crude on the property, Kate had come into a considerable amount of money and judging by the size of the addition to the house, she had put it to good use. He marveled at the extra bedrooms, as well as the sewing room he remembered his aunt had always wanted. While things were certainly spacious, Mike was glad to see that it still felt like "home". It wasn't flashy or fancy, but really more an extension of the old country farm house itself. He was sure Jack would have liked it.

"You'll still have to share rooms," Kate said as she led the group down the hall. "I didn't account for quite that much company at once." She stopped midway, first gesturing to her left, then to her right. "Mike, you and Micky can take this room. Peter and Lil' Davy can have this one."

Davy wrinkled his nose, freezing in his tracks. "Lil'?"

Peter gave him a playful pat on the head. "Maybe you can sleep in the dresser drawer."

"Ha ha. No."

Mike gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. "What about Shug? Where's she gonna sleep?"

"She can stay with me and Davy!" Peter beamed.

"Not so fast, mister," Kate scolded. "I intend to keep things respectable in this house. Sugar can stay with Clara." She moved down the hall to the next bedroom and knocked on the door. It opened slightly, revealing a freckle-faced girl with an upturned nose. She adjusted her glasses and peered first at Kate, then at the group standing behind her.

The girl's eyes brightened and she threw the door open completely. "Mike, is that you?"

"Clara!" Mike swept her into a hug, then flipped her ponytail as he set her back down. "How've you been, kiddo? How's studyin'?"

She tugged at her hair and scuffed a shoe against the floorboards. "Aw, it's alright. Still got a ways to go, but Doc says I'm on the right track. One of th' best students he's had!" She smiled, making her buck teeth terribly apparent.

"Good job, Lil' Bit!" Mike felt extremely proud of his cousin. It had been years since he had seen her, the last time being just before he first left for California. Any time he had made it back to the ranch, Clara was always gone, always busy. Seeing her happy and successful meant a lot. "You're gonna make a fine vet." He turned to his friends, craning his neck to see past Micky's hair. "Shug, did you hear—Hey, where's Sugar?"

All eyes were on Peter who looked incredibly uncomfortable. "She... She said she wanted to stay outside. Clear her head and get some air."

* * *

There was so much about the ranch that was the same, yet so much that was different. Sugar ran her hands along the fence rails, fingertips recalling the feel of the wood and memories of balancing on them with her cousins. Of course, that was in another lifetime, which made her recollections somewhat bittersweet.

She meandered to the barn and couldn't help smiling. It still looked exactly the same as it did when she was still small enough to hide in the hay bales in the loft. She wondered if she could still shimmy up the ladder or if her legs would end up tangled. Shrugging, she wrapped her hands around the sides of the ladder and carefully set a foot on the first rung.

So far, so good. One more rung. Then another.

"Hey! What're you doing up there?" a young, yet frantic voice squeaked.

Shug's foot slipped, going between the rungs and she floundered in midair a moment before finally giving up and dangling upside-down from the barn ladder. As she attempted to right herself, her eyes met those of a sandy-haired kid, who couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. He squinted at her, wrinkling his freckled nose.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Listenin' to all th' blood rush to mah head," Sugar responded, a slight edge to her voice. "What're you doin' sneakin' up on people like that?"

The boy huffed and crossed his arms. "What's the idea sneakin' into Miss Kate's barn?"

"Well, I'll have you know," Shug said, clumsily grabbing at the ladder, "that I'm family and I used to climb around in this barn all th' time when I was little." She was upright for a moment before the one leg latched around the rung gave out and she fell into the dirt below.

The tension in the air was suddenly pierced by a round of giggles from the young boy.

"Thanks a lot, kid," Sugar snarled angrily. "You really know how to make a feller feel at home." She dusted off her shirt, then glanced up to find that the kid was extending a hand toward her.

"I'm Mikey," he said, beaming. "I'm Miss Kate's help for the summer."

Sugar's anger dissipated and she took hold of the boy's hand as he helped her to her feet. "Mikey, huh? That's a nice name. I'm Sugar."

Mikey's lips curled up, smile widening. His gaze was firmly fixed on Sugar's face, as though he was studying her, reading her. A little unnerved, Shug quirked an eyebrow and returned the expression, albeit a bit more comically. "What's that look all about, kiddo?"

The boy shrugged, hands in his pockets. "You just remind me of someone I met once. Nice guy."

"A guy?" Shug was taken aback. She did her best to ignore the emotional gut-punch; after all, Mikey was just a kid and rarely did kids that age have filters. She playfully ruffled the boy's hair and forced a faint grin. "If that's the case, I'd rather be a Texas prairie chicken."

The little blond gaped up at the older woman. His smile returned and he snickered.

"Shug? You out here?" Sugar recognized her brother's voice calling from the far end of the fence row. Once she spied him, she waved and he picked up the pace, joining her and her new friend. "What're you doin' hidin' in the barn? You oughta go see your cousins." He paused and held a hand out to the younger boy. "Sorry, I forgot my manners. Hi there!"

"This is Mikey," Sugar said, relaxing at last. "He's Aunt Kate's summer help."

Mike laughed and leaned back, hands on his hips. "Mikey, huh? My name's Mike, too. Nice to know ya."

Standing between the two Nesmiths, Mikey kept looking back and forth at them—First at Sugar, then at Mike. His face brightened noticeably and the wave of giggles returned. "Landsakes," he tittered, "you two are the spittin' image of each other!"

Mike's eyebrows knitted together in curious frustration. "That kinda happens with twins," he offered. "Ain't no reason to get all tickled about it."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, the younger boy made an attempt to regain his composure. "Sorry, sorry, sorry... You're just...surprising is all." Still between them, he took a hand in each of his and began dragging them toward the back of the house. "I like you guys. C'mon, you gotta meet everyone else."

Mikey led the twins along what looked like newer fence. Within it were roughly a half-dozen goats and amid them stood Clara, with a small calico goat happily bouncing around her feet. Shug stopped in her tracks at the sight of her cousin. She spied the grin on Mike's face as they neared the goat pen.

"Clara's on her way to bein' a vet," he said proudly. "Got a good future ahead of her." He loosened himself from Mikey's grip and shoved both hands in his pockets.

"I remember she was off studyin' last time we were here." Sugar gave Mikey's hand an involuntary squeeze. "I'm afraid to talk to her. ...What if she's like Kate?"

Mikey let go of Sugar's hand and gave her a shove toward the gate. "How're you gonna know if you don't say somethin' to her?" He climbed on top of the fence railings, tumbling down the opposite side. "Ask her about her goats or somethin'!"

"Goats..." She had barely made it through the gate when the little calico goat made a run at her. It scuffled to a halt in front of Sugar's feet, sniffing her. It snorted and shook its head, then began dancing around her and bleating. Sugar had a basic understanding of chickens and cows, but goats were something new to her. She stood perfectly still, not sure what to expect from the little creature, which finally propped its head against her knee, then looked up again and made another noise at her.

"She likes you!" Clara called happily from her position amid the rest of the tiny herd. She knelt slightly, holding out her hand. "C'mon, Barbara! Let your new friend walk, okay?"

Much to Sugar's surprise, the little goat nodded, circled her feet again, then bounded back to cousin Clara, who cuddled her much like one would a pet dog. "Um... She's really friendly, your little goat there."

"Barbara's a good judge of character," Clara said, smiling happily. "If Babs likes someone, they can't possibly be bad." She approached Sugar, hand extended. "Clara Nesmith."

Shug fumbled a moment. Palms sweating, she quickly wiped them on her jeans before returning the gesture. She had to take her time responding, lest her own mouth betray her out of pure nervousness. "My friends call me Sugar."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Sugar, huh? Nice meetin' ya."

"What kinda name is Sugar?" another voice called—female, Texan and a touch on the shrill side.

Kate's voice quickly followed. "Lucille Lynne Nesmith, where are your manners?"

Clara and Sugar's attention was drawn toward the back porch, where the other two Nesmith women had gathered with the other three Monkees. Cousin Lucy seemed irritated, which was par for the course, as Shug remembered.

Mike sidled up next to his sister. "You know how Lucy feels about city folk," he said quietly.

"Merciful heavens," both girls chimed, almost in unison. They gawked at each other a minute or two, then Clara's face brightened.

"Well, _I_ ain't got any qualms about city folk," the buck-toothed girl laughed. "I guess you don't either, huh?"

"I live with a house full of 'em," Sugar smiled. "I ain't got much choice but to like 'em." For only a fleeting couple of seconds, she was sure she saw a glimpse of recognition in Clara's eyes. It vanished just as fast as it had appeared, but was replaced only by a sort of friendly warmth. The ice was broken, so maybe she could make a little stronger effort. "Um... Mike tells me you're a vet?"

"I'm workin' on it!" Clara beamed. She stooped to pet Barbara, who had settled by her side. The little goat stood, tail wagging in excitement. "I figured with as much as I love my animals, it'd be a good thing to help them, 'specially since they can't speak for themselves."

"MYA-AH!"

Clara laughed. "And then there's Barbara, who would talk up a storm if she could." She allowed the goat to climb into her arms, then stood again, cuddling the horned creature. "C'mon, I'll give you th' grand tour."

"Meep!"

"With added commentary by a pigmy goat," Shug snickered. She gave Barbara a good scratch between her horns before following Clara to the house. She got as far as two steps before something tugged at her. She turned to find Mikey holding onto the hem of her shirt. His freckles seemed to double as his cheeks rounded into a grin. He motioned for Shug to move closer; her height required her to bend down in order to do so.

Cupping a hand to Sugar's ear, Mikey whispered, "See? I knew you guys would get along."

Shug straightened and smiled, ruffling the kid's hair before catching up with Clara.


End file.
